


Scare croc

by Anonymous



Category: Arkham Asylum (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Boddy horror, I am so sorry, Joke Fic, Other, Parody, Squick, and i wanted to preserve it for posterity or something, graphic depictions of something, i named it this on a joke and hope that's not an actual shipname???, idk how to warn for this but be warned, this isn't actually my kink i just have a terrible sense of humor, this was done years ago as an inside joke that got out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Scarecrow has a bad time post Arkham Asylum. Shit gets weird. I'm so sorry.





	Scare croc

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i just want to apologize. i’m sorry to everyone’s moms. i was very naive. i’m so sorry for everything that happened. it was my fault. it was my project. JJJJJJJJJJJJJJOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSHHHHHH

There is, generally speaking, a very limited number of outcomes on expects when Killer Croc gets ahold of you. A bloody, messy death is usually what any of these possibilities result it, though Doctor Crane finds himself presently pondering that a watery one is most likely. He didn’t have much time to get a lungful of breath before getting dragged underwater by Croc, not that it would have mattered; he was far too busy shouting like a lunatic at Batman. He shall drive the city insane, ha ha! Yes. And then he very embarrassingly got tossed around like a ragdoll. If he lives through this, he’s certain Nygma will never let him live this particular moment down.

Unfortunately his survival and likely continued humiliation is still a very big if. His mask’s gone and twisted round his head at some point during the struggle, but he’s at least vaguely aware Croc is dragging him… somewhere. He’s more than a little surprised that this ends with him being launched violently out of the water and not in, say, drowning. He hits the ground painfully hard, and just resigns himself to laying there, coughing and sputtering foul-tasting water. He has to pry the water logged, twisted mask from his face before he can breathe properly. And as soon as he does, he not only wishes he hadn’t, but wishes he’d have maybe drowned.

Croc has brought him back to the sewers, that much is unsurprising. Everything else beyond that… well. It appears Croc has been collecting garbage for some time, now in one great heap in the center of the tunnel. It looks like a nest, made mostly of human bones, garbage and… furbies. What in the world.

“I need straw,” Croc bellows from somewhere behind the garbage pile.

“Wha – what,” Crane coughs, slightly disbelieving.

“GIVE ME YOUR STRAW,” Croc bellows again, climbing atop his mountain of random assorted bullshit. “MY BABIES MUST BE THE RIGHT TEMPERATURE.”

“I don’t even have any, you imbecile!” Crane snaps, wobbling unsteadily to his feet.

Croc just looks rather sadly perplexed at this. “You always have straw.”

“And where do you think I’ve hidden it?” Crane argues back, voice rising in volume with every word until he is shouting. "I don’t even have a god damned shirt!”

Croc, however, doesn’t seem to mind that all that much. After a moment of very thoughtfully staring at Crane, he just goes about digging a very large hole in the assembled detritus. “You can still guard the eggs.”

Babies. Eggs. He’s lost it, finally. Croc’s finally gone and lost it completely. Crane has had about enough of this, honestly. He’ll risk getting torn limb from limb if he has to, he doesn’t much care. He turns and bolts down the sewer tunnel – or, at the very least, attempts to. His valiant escape is almost immediately impeded by steel bars set far too close to squeeze through. Behind him, between him and perhaps the only exit, is Croc and that infernal nest. And what is that goddamn groaning coming from.

He turns around long enough to scream at the sight, then immediately turns back to the gate and tries to claw his way through.

* 

Croc is incredibly disappointed that Crane doesn’t actually have any straw to add to the nest, he can’t deny it. Crane always has straw. He’s the Scarecrow, he always does. He must be lying. Surely there’s some tucked in his… boots. Maybe his pants. He’s probably got straw in his pants, that’s it. It is alright though, because he can serve another purpose. Croc is very pleased with himself when he concludes aloud that Jonathan can watch the nest. He’s a doctor, he’ll make a very dutiful nest-sitter he’s sure.

That Crane is soon trying very hard to flee is obviously just performance anxiety. Being nest-sitter is a very intimidating job.

Croc doesn’t blame him. He busies himself digging a nice indentation in the nest while Crane flails about not far away. It is a little distracting, but the eggs are coming. And no amount of distraction can stop that.

Croc carefully squats over his lovely nest. He can feel the eggs shifting and rumbling in his gut painfully, like large leathery rocks. He groans loudly as the first contraction hits, and he pushes down from his core as hard as he might. There’s a loud, sloppy gush as a torrent of cloacal juices soak through the pile of furbies and bones, followed by the solid plop of a fat, leather egg freeing itself from his stretching cloaca. He knows Crane’s screaming something, something about wanting to die, but he can’t focus enough to understand.

A second, larger egg forces its way through his innards and out his gaping cloaca. It flies out with enough strength that it bounces off the pile of debri like a rocket and rolls down the side of the nest. Crane screams more.

There are so many more eggs that follow, in a painful waterfall of gelatinous, discolored, pungent fluid. Croc groans and strains for what seems like hours before the last wave ends. Thoroughly exhausted, he still forces himself to bury the giant mound of quivering eggs beneath the bloody, filthy nest materials. It’s a laborious task to get just right. He hefts himself around carefully to pat it down with his tail.

Jonathan is still off against the grate, though he’s now huddled against it, gibbering slightly.

“You keep watch over them,” Croc says tiredly but firmly. “I must go rest, then I must find Batman. Their first meal has to be special.”

He’s going to take that small, keening noise from Crane’s corner as agreement on that matter. Satisfied, he drags himself away from his nest and to a corner to sleep.


End file.
